Surprise Party
Stephen Brooke ©2024
A glowing orb materialized behind the presidential podium. Ripples of orange and red subsided into a solid bronze. A door opened and a man holding a gun stepped out. Twice he shot at the figure at the podium before retreating into the orb. It dissolved again.
Mike Jacobs looked at his watch. Eighteen seconds. Proof of concept.
***
“It is far easier to send someone forward in time than back,” stated Doctor Lenova.
Her colleague did not openly scoff but did appear skeptical. “There is no reason to believe it’s even possible to move backward.”
The senior researcher dismissed this with a vague wave of her hand. “I’m sure we’ll work it out. We already move forward in time, you know. Constantly.”
Mike had to nod agreement to that. It was about the only solid fact he did know about time travel.
“So it is simply a matter of speeding the process up.” She seemed pretty confident. “And, in theory, we should be able to do the opposite.”
“But with a huge expenditure of energy, if we could manage it at all. Forward—” Doctor Pham allowed himself a slight and enigmatic smile. “We simply fall into the way we open to the future. The only tricky part is stopping.”
It took but a few seconds for Mike to recognize the implications of Pham’s statement. “You mean you’ve actually done it?”
“Not with a human subject. But objects, yes, and even animals, with no apparent harm.”
This was astounding news but a problem at once presented itself to him. “How do they get back?”
“They don’t. We send them forward a few hours and, sure enough, they show up then.”
“We’ve gone up to two days so far.”
Mike had to think on that for but a few seconds more before noting, “That’s not very useful, is it?”
“But a great scientific breakthrough!”
Yes, it was. And maybe it could be made useful.
***
Twenty four hours passed. The orb again appeared, pulsing, slowing, solidifying.
“Are we good?” asked Agent Demerry, emerging from its coffin-like interior.
“More than good. A real mission would almost certainly have succeeded.” Nothing, of course, was guaranteed. Someone could have reacted quickly enough to take the assassin out. But chances are he would have already accomplished his objective.
That sort of loss could be lived with. “The problem is this bulky—what do we call it? A ship?” asked Demerry. “Getting it into position a few days early might not be too hard but how about retrieving it?”
“I think the operator would have to jump further forward. Weeks, maybe,” said Jacobs. Or months. “But we are working on a solution.”
***
Spy had been Mike’s first thought. Assassin was his second. It would be a way to get into restricted areas, and then get out by jumping forward in time again.
Once it was recognized what was happening, it would not as effective. Safeguards would be implemented. There would be longer lead times on security and a watch for a reappearance.
And if the intruder was nabbed, so would be the technology. Spies would be less vulnerable but if they had to jump forward in time to escape, their intelligence might be outdated. No, assassination was the best application of this time travel ability. Its killer app, so to speak.
He hadn’t even known what sort of research went on in that lab when he stopped by, on one of his routine tours as director. It would be a good idea not to let anyone else in on it. Definitely not anyone higher up, anyone not under his orders. Those two scientists—hmm, he’d have to do something with them, wouldn’t he?
***
‘Operation Surprise Party’ Director Jacobs had dubbed it. He did not inform his team who might be invited to that party. The need to know was his and his only. Mike did dislike having to keep Pham and Lenova in the loop but, after all, they were the ones who knew the science.
Though not necessarily the engineering. His team of technicians had miniaturized the time machine—Mike didn’t know what else to call it—and fitted the circuits into a unit no more than half the size of the original. Still big enough for one occupant, yes, but compact enough not to draw attention. Nor did it any longer have the appearance of a metallic orb. Best, there was an improved mechanism for automatically opening the door. That should shave a few seconds.
And every second gave the mission a greater chance of success. His confidence increased with each test; now, the time for tests was over and the time for action had come. Mike knew there might be only the one chance. The chance to change history. The chance to save his country. He would act and he would act alone.
***
Tom Pham peered into the darkness above him. There was a ceiling up there, somewhere, dividing this sub-basement from the sub-basement above it. He suspected there might be another below the metal floor. No matter; he had a job to do and then he could get out of there and, with any luck, never come back.
“Just a quick check,” he told the techies and the guards and whoever those other people were. “A last check before giving the go-ahead.” Only one thing truly called for his attention but he looked over the entire machine, nodding his head from time to time. Let the engineers think he approved of their work. Oh, he did, actually.
But they didn’t understand the processes behind the mechanism. Only he and Lenova had that knowledge and they were doing their best to keep it to themselves. The timer. That’s what he had come for, what he needed to check.
They had to discover Jacobs’s intentions. November Twelfth. As feared and as suspected. The day the presidents of two nations would stand side by side, announcing an unprecedented treaty. A treaty that promised an enduring peace.
Or so the rumors had it. There, that would do. “All checked out and ready to go,” he announced. No one seemed to be particularly interested. Pham suspected most had no idea of the unit’s purpose.
***
Tomorrow. Mike had held off getting himself—and the time machine—into position. Things could always change at the last moment. They could yet, he had to admit, but the likelihood was high that he would be able to show up at the proper place and moment. None of the workers setting up for the appearance of the two leaders paid him any attention. The director was well known and he had the highest level of clearance.
His Glock was secure in a shoulder holster. That, too, would rouse no suspicions if anyone noticed it. It should be in his hand, ready for use, when he jumped forward in time. And a mask should cover his face.
Someone might connect the unit to him anyway. He trusted none of his subordinates, had told none of his plan, but a few did know of the time machine’s existence. And he needed some assistance in getting it into position; smaller it might be but still somewhat weighty. His disappearance for a couple weeks could arouse suspicion, as well, but he had already set up a cover for that. Director Jacobs would officially be off directing a covert operation while all hell broke loose in Washington.
There were those scientists, too. Well, he’d worry about all that when he reappeared in couple weeks. Most of the lights had been dimmed, all of the workers had gone. Mike Jacobs slipped inside, pulling a ski mask over his head. Gun in hand, he pushed the button that would let him change the world.
***
“We had to find out what use might be put to the technology.”
“And it’s a good thing we did. That first demonstration was just a little too close to the operation Jacobs had in mind,” said Doctor Lenova.
“It did raise some suspicions, didn’t it?”
Both nodded, perhaps not quite solemnly. In fact, Pham seemed close to chuckling. “We warned him stopping could be tricky,” he said, “especially after I changed the settings. I would estimate he’ll show up in about twenty years.”
“In the mean time, let everyone think the project was a failure. Now we can work on being able to move backward in time.”
Pham remained skeptical of ever achieving that but chose not to comment.
